Fearless Freddie Is ONE

Little Dude here made it out of his infancy alive; on Tuesday he turned one year old.

 

        

And I, being the sentimental idiot that I am, cried as I rocked him to sleep.

 

 

He’s so big.  He laughs at his brothers’ antics and tries to join in the chases and wrestling matches.  He flirts.  He sleeps terribly.  He loves music.  He can say “Dog” and “Dada.”  He climbs anything he can.  His hair is so fluffy. 

 

 

He can’t eat solid food because he chokes and vomits on anything even a little bit chunky.  He hates hats or anything on his head.  He still doesn’t walk.  His toothy grins are the best.  He’s more determined than either of my other babies.  He love baths and the pool.

 

 

We had a birthday party for him on Tuesday with many friends over to eat cake and ice cream and generally go crazy in our backyard.  And then we I, in front of lots of people I love and respect, committed a terrible parenting faux pas: I “let” my child burn himself on his goddamn birthday candle. 

 

We were outside and the candle blew out in the breeze before we were done singing, so I relit it.  And then, quick as can be, Freddie leaned over and touched it, blistering up his wee, adorable finger (we had candles at both Charles’s and Jamie’s first birthdays and neither of them reached for the flame).  Of course he started to cry.  And then, because I am awful and don’t think things through very well, I shoved his little burned finger into his ice cream.  I thought it was a good idea at the time, but it looked pretty callous and harsh, I think.  I mean, I could have pulled him out of his high chair to comfort him, I guess, but I didn’t want to derail his celebration completely.  He calmed after a minute or two, Tony quickly sang the last line of the birthday song, and everyone clapped.  With tear tracks on his face, Freddie tentatively tasted cake.  And then he dived in.

 

 

Did you know that sugar acts as an analgesic in children?  I did, but only because Charles was a chunk of a baby and had to be tested for all sorts of things in the hospital because of his high birth weight (he was totally healthy, just big).  Instead of a local anesthetic when the nurses pricked his heel for the millionth time for a blood sample, they fed him about a quarter ounce of glucose solution.  I think the sugar in the cake acted as an analgesic for Freddie, helping him to forget about his blistered finger.

 

 

Freddie is fine now, of course, breaking hearts with his smile wherever he goes.

 

 

Oh, Lord, this little boy is so wonderful.  He is everything a baby should be and I love him so much.  Nearly seven years into this gig of parenting and I don’t feel the need to enumerate milestones or wax poetic about normal baby “feats.”  I’m simply enjoying being this baby’s mom.  He’s growing and learning at his own pace and I hope I’m giving him a good environment in which to do so.  He might have burned his finger, but he doesn’t let that or any other injury keep him down.  Instead, even though he has fallen down the stairs twice (on a related note, I have suffered two mild heart attacks in recent weeks), he still crawls up and down them every chance he gets.  Even though he routinely falls off of the picnic table bench, he persists in climbing up and over it.  Bruises?  Black eyes?  Freddie don’t care.

 

 

Freddie has always been a calm, easygoing child.  It has served him well in our house of chaos.  Despite being the rather abused object of their affection and the innocent bystander all too often caught up in their arguments, he loves his brothers something fierce.

 

 

I sure hope I’m up to the task of keeping Fearless Freddie safe.  He appears to want to push every boundary I can come up with.

 

 

Here’s to another year of greatness, another year of making me smile, another year of belly kisses, slobber, and sleepy cuddles.  It’s been a rough year, but I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.  My Freddie.  I love him so much.